


Darker Destiny

by Nadja_Lee



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassination, Cutting, Dark, Depression, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Homelessness, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mutant Rights, Racism, Sad, Sex Work, Suicidal Thoughts, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-05-14
Updated: 2002-05-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadja_Lee/pseuds/Nadja_Lee
Summary: AU. A 'what if Xavier had never formed the X-men' story. Each character tells of their 'Darker Destiny'
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Kudos: 34





	Darker Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Estelle for the Beta.  
> Bobbys part is dedicated to JenN who loves Bobby so I couldn't leave him out of this…..though she might have preferred I did…..*smiles*  
> Dedicated with love to Sorcieré  
> The Victor one is for Terri who asked for it.  
> Thanks much to Nadine for the great artwork

**Part 1: When Life Is Hell Scott movie/comic based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like on the dark side of life….._

I don't know why I keep writing stuff down. Maybe I need to share what I feel with someone and no one cares nor listens…no one but you, an unnamed reader. Once I thought I could write what has happened to me down and tell the truth; speak up. I quickly found out the world doesn't work like that. Now I write because I have to, because without it I'll go insane. And when there is no more light, no more paper…I let my thoughts ride on the wind, knowing everyone will think nothing of it, another piece of trash flying in the wind, to be stepped on and thrown away. Kinda fitting.  
What to say about me? Nothing. I'm no one, never have been and never will be. That's just how it is. My folks were killed when I was five and I was placed in an orphanage. Beatings and rape **were** common there. Unlike many of the other boys at the home I had never been beaten before, I had never been held against my will, never felt that fear, that pure terror. I broke a rule I didn't knew existed; the rule of silence. I reported it. I was sent to a doctor who checked me out and a female social worked talked with me. She thought I was notoriously lying and didn't believe me. The charges were dropped as the doctor said he found no proof of abuse. Yeah right. I had been whipped the night before and he didn't see that?! Justice is for the rich only, I guess. After that I learned well the rule of caution and silence.  
I ran away from the home when I was eleven, thinking I would find freedom on the streets but found only darkness. The only thing that changed was who was abusing me; using me. I was still a pawn in someone's sick and twisted game that I still don't know the name of.  
It's a whole world, a hidden and dark world. Everything's for sale here; sex, youth, drugs, life and death. You can buy it all. From time to time the police will, more for the sake of appearance, arrest someone but it's always the small fish; unimportant and replaceable. Arresting the small drug dealers **is** a regular process while arrests in sex crimes on minors, boys or gays are few and far in between. Girls and women are a little better off there. Don't really know why. Maybe it's just more known, more seen and more accepted?  
At first death seemed to be better than this to me. I tried suicide a few times but never went through with it. I came to realise that no matter happened; I did want to live. It's strange how much you can adapt and change to fit in, to survive. Pride is a very small meal for a kid and you quickly learn to lose it. Dignity is unheard of if you want to live and courage is for those who want to die. Life becomes a painful process where you seek forgetfulness in whatever you can find. Once I took everything I could; booze or drugs of the cheap kind, made little difference to me. I only needed to escape a life that would kill me if I thought about what I was doing. But that's the whole point; just do and don't think. You can't afford to think. You can't afford to play 'what if' or dream away. Life is here and now and nothing can change it. No one cares anyway.  
I can never forget the past but by day I can pretend I don't care. In the dark of the night I become a boy again, scared and frightened. I crawl up in a ball and fight to stay awake because as soon as I close by eyes I feel eager and cruel hands reaching for me, touching me in places I don't **want** to and forcing me to do and say things I can't live with if I force myself to remember.  
I'm not that stupid; I know this is wrong. But the law is one thing, reality something else. The circle goes far and reaches many important and up-held citizens. I've even heard of a Senator member and several policemen who often walk these streets eager to buy young flesh; male or female. The rich and powerful can do whatever they wish; what can we down here at the bottom do about that when the middle classes won't even see us? When did you, dear reader, last give money to a homeless? Last think of all the children living on the streets? Last wonder what they are forced to do to survive? If ever those thoughts have been yours they have come and gone as quickly as an unpleasant nightmare. You can't solve a problem people won't even admit is there. The perfect cover indeed.  
Today something happened. Something terrible. Well, more so than usual anyway. John died. He killed himself. Drug overdose. I can't be sorry for that. He was 16 going on 100 and had full blown AIDS. This job will do that to you. You can't afford to demand protection so…. It probably doesn't work anyway.  
I saw him; John. He looked happy in death; a smile curving his lips that seemed to light up his starved and thin body. I was never very close to John but we had met at the Centre downtown. He was an alright guy just…tired. Generally tired of everything. Like most of us I guess.  
I wonder who'll take over his clients. Not that he had many regulars. He was getting too old though he tried to lie himself younger. I works on 7th Street so I think Connie will take over from him. Connie, or Connor as his real name is, is alright but way too valuable and weak to do this. I know that in less than a year it'll be him lying somewhere. I just hope that when that time comes it'll be by his own hands and not some crazy customer or killer. We had a serial killer in this area some years back. He killed boys, about 12, and washed them, dressed them in white and put their bodies near a statue of an angel, their hands folded over their chest as in prayer. Sick as it may sound they all looked more at peace in death than they ever had in life. I think the killer actually believed he was helping but failed to realise that even when life is Hell humans fight to survive. That is the nature of things.  
The highlight of my day was a five-dollar bill an old lady gave me when she saw me standing on a corner. In her eyes I read she knew more than she let on; maybe she had even been where I am now. As I write this it's for the first time in days on a full stomach. Bless fast food stores for low prices.  
I'm running out of paper and the sun is almost down. I have to end this now. I think I'll go to the Centre first and see what's happening. Later I'll see if I can't make some money. Like John I'm getting too old for anyone to want me but maybe I can find something else. There's always a job for someone willing to do next to anything for it.  
But one of these days…..one day I will be free. One day, somehow, I'll break free. I will. I'll have what I always wanted; peace.

~Scott

**Part 2: Somebody Save Me Jean movie based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like to stand in the middle of a room filled with people...and feel totally alone….._

Dear diary,

I always felt kinda stupid writing that but I'm used to it now. I've been keeping a diary since I was eleven. They're not for anyone to read in, no one would care to anyhow. Writing just…calms my thoughts for a little while.

Today I attended a conference. Lots of important people and meetings….standing with a drink in my hand, in a dress that's uncomfortable and looking at all the others. Standing there in the middle of the room….and I felt so alone I wanted to cry.

I do this to myself; that's the sad part. I should be happy but I'm not. I have never been happy. I rarely relax or feel at ease. Alone, in my own dark little corner of the world, hidden from view; here I'm safe…and alone.

It's my childhood. It's always your upbringing. I wonder if parents know how much they can damage a child? I like children but I don't want any for myself. If life is what I've been put through I wouldn't wish it on anyone and least of all my own child. No, my unborn baby, stay hidden and safe. It'll be best for you.

On the outside we were the perfect family; my father was a university professor and highly respected, my mother tended to my sister and me. It could have been perfect but it never was. My father had a hot temper and when he got into one of his moods….I was never comfortable even here in the safety of my own words to say he beat me but he'll spank me or hit me in the face if he felt I spoke back to him. Does that count as abuse? I don't know. I've never talked with anyone about it. As a child I figured it was normal. That it was normal to fear your father, normal to hardly be able to control your happiness when your mother said he would be gone on business for 3 weeks…why would I believe it to be anything but normal?

Time passed and I started school. I grew older but not less fearful of my father. It was the ever present threat of punishment that scared me more than the actual punishment itself. I quickly learned to speak what he wanted to hear but my sister never did. She always got into trouble and was a terrible liar…to watch her humiliation was worse than anything. I can't even bring myself to write it down, less alone speak of it. No, keep it hidden; always hidden.

I grew up and became a teenager. Time changed my parents. Suddenly everything that had been forbidden was encouraged. Why don't you date? Why don't you go out to party? Those questions were asked in the same breath as 'Why do you bring so bad grades home?' Nothing save A+ was ever good enough. Those two statements could never be satisfied at the same time so I never went anywhere; I stayed and studied and watched as life passed me by; too afraid of ghosts to do anything about it.

I moved away from home yet I took my ghosts with me. I stayed home; I didn't dare to have too much 'fun'. I was afraid of something that wasn't even there anymore. Time passed, I grew more lonely and the darkness grew colder. I began to think way too much over everything, began to psychoanalyse myself and always found I was insane which didn't improve my mood. Yet I kept going onwards, blindly so. I had been pushed forward all my life; I didn't know how to stop now.

In my heart I think I always and still long for their respect and approval but nothing is ever good enough. Now, a doctor and 30 years old it's still not enough and I'm still alone. My thoughts haunt and torment me with what ifs and whys. I fear people yet I long for them too. I want to reach out for them but I fear them if they come too close.

In the darkness I'm safe. Alone but safe. Here, I can sit, the stillness my only witness if I should break down, cry, throw stuff around or take up a razor blade and cut small, fine tracks on my arms, watch the red blood with a strange form of fascination. No one will ever know and no one will care if they do.

I must end this now. I have shift tomorrow at 6. Strange, even now I can't break just that rule; go to bed in proper time.

~Jean

**Part 3: Dreams In My Heart Rogue movie based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like when everything goes in circles….._

It's all the same. This wasn't where I thought I'd end up when I ran away from home; not at all. I go on the same street, work in the same restaurant; even the costumers have begun to look alike. I feel like I'm being strangled. All the dreams I once had, where have they gone?

I fear none of them will ever come to pass. There is nothing left here. It's as if time has slowed down and I can't breathe. It's like I'm being strangled, slowly dying inside.

I have never been good at reaching out to people and as a result I'm alone. I wake up, go to work and go home. That's all. The same every day. I know I could do more but something always holds me back. I know what I have; I don't know what I'll get. It's a risk I dare not take.

I know I'm being stupid and I hate myself for it. I should take charge, go out there and look for Prince Charming myself. What's the odds he'll just walk through the door and ask me out? One in a billion and even that it is too high. I know this yet some dreams never die or is it some fears?

Why can't I do it? Why can't I tear myself loose? I keep telling myself all kinds of excuses but none of them explains to me why I can't break free. What is wrong with me? The more I think about it the more I begin to hate myself for my cowardliness. I wish I could be like those confident women, going somewhere; anywhere. But I'm not. I'm just not and I have to live with that.

How? How do you live with that? I dream. I dream a lot. I dream myself off to distant galaxies, distant worlds, into romance novels, off to strange countries and into the arms of one handsome man who loves me more than life itself. Dreams, nothing but foolish dreams yet they're all I have. They're all I ever had. I've never had someone; ever and I begin to fear I never will. I wish I could say there was a reason, any kind of good reason. That I had chosen it as such…..that I was a nun. But I'm not. It's fear that keeps me back. All I ever wanted from life was a man who loves me and whom I can love back. But I begin to understand that that's too much to ask for.

I play music all the time. I hate the silence. In the silence I begin to think and I can't allow myself that for if I do I'll begin to cry and may never stop. No, I need the music to keep playing, I need the escape. In music I do not need to think, in music I can float far away. No thoughts and no bonds. I need the music. I need it. I have to hear it play in my mind for my own thoughts scare me.

~Marie

**Part 4: Going Nowhere Logan movie based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like to be on the way towards something yet never reaching it?_

I've been on the road for far longer than I care to remember. I leave before someone gets close, I just leave.

I try not to think about it. I try to just take one day and then the next. I don't want to think about the past or the future. But I do. This aimless life was never what I thought I would have and it was never what I wanted. I try to drown those voices in my head with booze or fights, anything to keep them away but they keep coming back.

They whisper failure in my ear; say I'm nothing and no one. They say I never got my dreams to come true and now I never will. But it's not that easy. It just isn't. Of course I wanted to be someone, someone important; who doesn't? A doctor, an engineer…..someone whom people looks up to and respects. But it's just not for me. I can't do it. I can't concentrate long enough, I keep losing focus and I'm slipping away. I don't want to but I always do. My mind is never on the here and now and I'm slipping away. Gods, I'm slipping away.

It's the most dangerous game in the world and it's the worst feeling in the world; feeling you have lost and knowing you can only thank yourself for it. Damn it all. Why? Why can't I be what they are? Why can't I concentrate long enough? If I could just focus. If…..I hate that word. I hate ifs. They ruin all my freakin' days.

I have one dream still left though; all the others have faded and disappeared. I dream of a family, I dream of soft brown hair, of a sweet smile and willing lips. I dream of a woman who'll love me just as I am and not try and change me. I need someone to love me, I need someone to hold but more than anything else; I need just one person to think I'm not a failure. If I could just make it in her eyes I would be all right; I know I would.

But whom am I kidding? What kind of woman would ever fall for a guy like me? Women want success, money, and stability. They don't want a heart; they want a wallet. I can't say I blame them. I really wish I had that. I really wish I had it in me to sit for hours before a computer screen and work for hours on end, I really wish I could do that. I do want to do something and make a difference but where to even start?

No, all else in my life has failed; this must not. I need to find this woman. I need her. I need to see love in her eyes, I need her warm embrace, I need to see respect and admiration in her eyes as she looks at me. I need to see that; I need to.

It can't be another broken dream; don't let it be another broken dream I can never fulfil. Don't.

Deep in thought and praying to a God I thought I had stopped believing in long ago I park the car and walk into a restaurant to get something to eat.

Yes, I need to find this special person; this one woman who'll love me in all her innocence. But where to find such a woman? Does she even exist?

Strange…..how we so often miss what's just in front of us.

~Logan

**Part 5: Just Not Good Enough Bobby movie based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like to do everything to please yet always come out short….._

What more do you want from me? I don't get it. I've tried so hard, I've changed so much…Yet nothing is every quite good enough for you.

It shouldn't matter anymore. I'm no longer a kid but somehow I can't let it go. Why do I still long for your respect? Your love? When I know you'll never give it to me. I thought parents were supposed to love their children no matter what…..well, someone obviously didn't tell you that.

There was a time where I would have done anything; given anything for a kind word and soft smile from you. But that was not to be.

All my childhood you measured me up to my big brother or yourself and always found me lacking. I tried to be strong, I tried to fight but I couldn't take it. Nothing I did was ever good enough. I never heard just one word of praise, never felt just one soft smile or embrace. Why? Why couldn't you do that? For me?

Did I mean so little to you, dad? Was I really so worthless? Didn't you see how I fought? Didn't you notice the tears your coldness brought to my eyes? Why did you get mad at me for crying instead of comforting me? Why did you reach out and strike me when I sought your nearness? Why did you push me away?

I could never ask you those things; I was too afraid. I was always afraid or insecure. It wasn't respect I showed you; it was fear. Fear and a great need to just once be good enough. I tried….I truly tried, dad.

You had been on the football team so naturally so should I. I hated it from day one but I tried so hard to do good; for you. My entire life revolved around doing well for you. I didn't have it in me to win; I have never been a competitive person. I tried…and I failed. So in desperation I started doing drugs to help me get stronger, run faster. And people started to look at me in a new way; with respect and admiration. I finally had what I always wanted. For a while it seemed even you was about to come around.

Then everything fell apart. The coach discovered I was using, I was thrown off the team and I had to tell you that. I've never feared anything so much in my entire life as I did that day, knowing I had to face you.

When you finally came home I was a nervous rack and something in me was sure you were late just to torment me. Your questions to me were as they always were; how was school and practice? I had to tell you and so I did. I forced it out and tried hard to keep from crying; I didn't want to appear that weak, didn't want you to have that satisfaction. Then everything exploded. You yelled at me. Called me worthless, a no good boy you wouldn't admit to being yours. You said you were ashamed of me and wanted me out of your house. Tears started to fall from my eyes as I tried to explain. My tears only angered you further and unable to hold back you slapped me so hard I fell to the floor before you went out the room, yelling at me to get the Hell out.

Somehow, I don't know how, I pulled myself together and with tears in my eyes I packed a bag, took all the money I had with me and left the house and never came back.

Life on the streets was harder than I had imagined it. I knew there would be coldness, fear and isolation yet before I had felt it I didn't understand the depth of it. The disgust in people's eyes as they passed me on the streets coloured my cheeks red with shame and soon I needed something to help me escape. One thing led to another and what I needed to escape had to be stronger and stronger. Soon, I lost control though I doubt I had much of that to begin with. My life began to have just one single-minded purpose; find some way to get the next fix. I did anything from robbery to blowjobs, I got mugged and beaten up but somehow I always got what I came for. And for a few blissful hours my mind was far away and for the first time I was truly happy. There was no shame, no guilt, no disappointment, no longing, no loneliness, no hunger, no cold and no abandonment.

As I sink steadily faster and faster I know I'm nearing the bottom but it's too late for me to stop now. I'm lost and I know it yet I can't stop. In the few clear moments I have I wonder if you have ever tried to look for me or if you're too ashamed. I wonder if you miss me or have even noticed I'm gone. Maybe you're just happy to have gotten rid of me?

I don't know but somehow I feel that if I did know the answers to just some of those questions…I might have had a chance…I just might…..

~Bobby

**Part 6: When All Light Dies John movie based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like to feel too much….. care too much?_

Why? Why is this happening? Why are they doing this? I wish someone would explain it to me because I'm lost.

How can they pretend nothing is wrong? How can they just walk by and not care? How do they do that?

I wish I could do that. I wish I didn't care. But I do. Every time I turn on the TV I see death, pain and suffering. Every book I pick up is filled with blood and agony and every time I walk down the street I feel others despair and loneliness as strongly as if they had written a sign.

How can they just walk by and not care? How do they do that? My thoughts are in turmoil and I'm fading fast. I can find no light and no hope. I see no love and no compassion in people's eyes.

On the contrary; from an early age I see hate and destruction. Being able to beat someone up is good, seeing a movie where someone gets killed is great and reading a book about a mass murderer is cool. Things are turned upside down and I don't know what to do or whom to turn to. I feel like I'm about to explode, I can't hold it all inside.

I feel like screaming yet I remain silent, I feel like leaving yet I stay. The pain in my heart grows as the light fades with years. I had hoped that as I grew older I could find faith or hope but I find none. Everyday there's a new murder, a new war and another victim.

I read the papers and the articles about the rising gas prices are splattered all over the front page while a notice of more than 300 civilians brutally slathered in Somalia ends up as a footnote somewhere. Who cares 100th of miles away? Well, I do. I wish I didn't because this agony inside my soul is tearing me to pieces.

I swear I hear them; whispering, moaning, calling desperately for help. I hear them when I'm alone in the darkness and there's no one else. And I can't help. I feel so frustrated and alone. Tears run down my cheeks as I fight to keep that faint light inside me alive.

I need someone to light my spirits; someone to give me hope. I search but find none. I can no longer do this. It's too much; too much. They're killing it; they're killing me.

I stare in fascination at the razor blade in my hand, hypnotized by its glimmering sharp edge. I've lived long enough to know that things only get worse; why should I stay to find out how much more hurt they can bring on themselves…and me? They may not care or see but I feel it all inside; I'm in agony and they don't care…no one ever does. I let a soft song play, tears fall from my eyes, the room is otherwise silent; everyone is asleep….I'm alone. So lost and alone.

I bring the sharp edge down against my wrist.

~John

**Part 7: The Roles One Plays Mystique movie/comic based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like to play a role for so long you forget who you are….._

What would she say? What would she do? Never me. I can't be me, I'm not sure I remember how to anymore. I've played so many roles through my life that I begin to wonder if there even is a me inside somewhere.

Sometimes role playing is fun, to unleash your imagination and be someone else. But when you're always stuck in a moment, never moving, never changing back…..then things starts to blend. 'Who are you?' becomes a hard question, answered only with careful consideration. Who am I? This week? Last week? Tomorrow?

We all wear masks, none of us shows who we truly are. We're taught from childhood to play a role to fit in. Everyone should look, act and think the same so we do; we pretend we do. Inside we're all different but if we pretend long enough people will forget that.

Abnormality isn't viewed with kindness but with disgust. There are strong rules for intelligence and beauty and if you divagate too much from them you're an outsider. Then you only have two choices; be alone or pretend. I choose to pretend and I'm good at it.

Too good. My mind is a Hell I can't escape. When someone asks me a question I have hundreds and not just one ready reply to it and I have to sort through them all to figure out how the person I am today would react.

In the darkness late at night I even begin to wonder if my memories are real. I've made up so many stories in my mind that I now have trouble remembering what really happened and what didn't. I simply forget and all the colours in my mind bled together and become one. I'm trapped in my own web and I can't get free.

I need someone to help me sort it all out but I dare not show the real me to anyone because she is lost to me. I've even lost her real name…..or have I? I don't know. I can't remember what I've made up and what was real. I just can't recall. So many colours, so many answers…..so many names and so many faces.

I feel like I'm falling, I can't stop it and I can't help it. I'm lost, running around without direction. What shall I do? I'm not even sure whom I am so how should I know how to do anything else?

I try to go on and pretend everything is fine but by each passing day more and more of my façade fades and crumbles away. I fear what will be left should my wall fall. Will it be the real me behind all that pretend or will it be someone else? Someone made up from all my lies and pretend? Someone I don't know and have never known?

I'm so confused. I don't know what to do or who to turn to. I feel like my head is burning and I want to scream. Someone help me. Stop all these blasted voices in my mind. I never meant for it to go this far…I didn't. It was like when one lie was said, when one life was made up…I couldn't stop. Fantasies were always more interesting than real life and soon real life stopped and only fantasy was left. No rules, no limits…..and no self.

Everything is going in circles; I'm getting dizzy. What shall I do?

Who AM I?

Please…..I need to know. Yet….do I want to know?

~Raven

**Part 8: Never Got A Chance Sabretooth movie based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like to never have gotten a break or a chance?_

They don't understand me. No one does. No, that's not true. My mates….they're with me. They will never understand me but they're there for me as I am for them. We stick together because all we ever had was each other.

People talk of the innocence of a child…..I have never been innocent. I grew up to poverty and violence. I saw my dad smack my mom around and I would run and hide, hoping he wouldn't find me. As a kid I would be scared of every little noise and flinch away from every touch. Then I grew older and the darkness toughened me. Compassion and feelings were for the weak and here you are either the strongest or you're dead.

My mates and me hang out, smoke, do some graffiti…nothing major. It's the feeling of belonging, of sticking together; in those few hours we have a common enemy; the rich living on the other side of the road…. that's what keeps us together. That and our more or less common background.

Here you often wish you were an orphan should you be stuck with parents. Normally our moms are alright but too messed up one way or another to be of any use and our dads…they yell at you, get drunk and hit you…..everyone would be better off without them.

I had a girl once. She was from the other side. It didn't last long. She wanted a taste of the wild side and found it in me. But she was so afraid of what others might think that she refused to even acknowledge I existed to her friends. At school she would totally ignore me. Whatever….I don't care.

No, that's not true. I do care and that's what's so damn frustrating.

All I clinged to, my lifeline and my sanity were my mates, especially Billy. He was sweet somehow, unspoiled in a way. He was so young….and he died. He got killed in a drive by shooting. And the police….ha, like they care what happens down here. As long as it's not up in their fine, respected neighbourhood they don't give a shit.

They always judge you for everything but who you really are. People judge me because of my clothes or where I come from…not the real me. No one ever wants to see the truth.

It's so much easier to make stereotypes….I look bad, I must be bad. All this money to fine schools and that's all they know?! Someone should demand their money back.

Prejudice like that was what happened. A store got knocked over, I was nearby and suddenly I've got the cops on my tail. I should have stopped but I panicked. They caught up with me and I had my hands up, I had no weapon. It was dark, it rained. I remember the rain. It always rained.

All of them had their weapons pointed at me…..one of them fired. I remember the stabbing pain, agony beyond belief. I felt as the bullet entered my chest, I felt it shatter bones and tissue.

I felt it as it pierced my heart. I felt the warm blood on my body and in my mouth. I couldn't breathe. It hurt so terribly, worse than any pain I've ever felt before and believe me; I've felt a lot.

I gasped for breath, I tried to crawl to reach something, to go anywhere….as always I never reached it.

I fell down, I fought for a few useless seconds and so many thoughts and memories went through my mind. I realised that save a precious few moments with my mom and my mates I didn't have any memories worth keeping. My thoughts wandered and suddenly everything felt so…..meaningless. Life had always seemed hopeless but now I saw that I was nothing, got nothing and now I would become nothing.

Tears went down my face as agony as red hot flames licked over my body and made any more thoughts impossible. Then everything was suddenly quiet….so still…alone…so cold…..everything went black.

And it rained.

~Victor [Sabretooth]

**Part 9: Deep In The Darkness Hank movie based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like to be hated for something which you have no control over?_

I don't understand. I just don't understand. Where does all that hate come from? Where does all the prejudice come from? Are they born with it or is it something they learn with age?

Why can't they see the beauty in diversity; in difference? Everyone shall look the same, act the same, talk the same…row upon row of cloned people; not an original one among them.

They all have the power to break free, to be themselves but they are too afraid. Others' acceptance means more to them than justice and honour…

I've seen it and felt it. The looks and whispers as I enter a room. I'm different; I don't look like them. They fear me and through fear comes hate. One on one few lets me know of their fears; but together they feel stronger; bolder and moral is forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Racism. The word makes you think it's just about skin colour. It's of course that but it's so much more. When a child tells his mom he doesn't want to play with a certain kid because he has messy hair or a strange nose or old clothes….it's all the same. That's also prejudice and a form of racism; you judge people by appearance alone and not the qualities within. Prejudice against someone because of his skin colour, looks, religion, age, sex or sexuality is all the same and among to the same; fear. It's all a matter of fear and lack of understanding.

Prejudice and racism come in many forms and shapes; they're the obvious comments, they're the moving away from you, they're whispers and looks…. they're being overlooked, they're jumping to conclusions….

If I could just talk with them; explain. But they won't listen; fearful people never will. It's a human trait; what we don't understand we fear and what we fear we destroy.

Sometimes I think they'll never learn. I must walk in the shadows while they get to let their pretty prejudices grow. I can try and teach them; enlighten them but you can't force people to listen or to open their hearts. Some people are just too cold, too distant and too consumed by their own hates and fears to be reached.

Once I thought I could heal the world. I had faith in mankind and what we could achieve together. Now I see that very few are willing to listen. The majority of humans don't care about anyone but themselves and will always believe the worst. They don't care and they don't want to know.

Maybe that's what shocks me the most. Here, in this country and this age, everyone has every opportunity to gain access to knowledge yet so few do. It's rare for me to find someone who knows what goes on in other countries; it's even rarer to find someone who's up to date on current events that doesn't directly concern them.

I don't want to give up but I've seen too much and fought too hard….I've felt their lack of compassion and love up close and personal. I see more hate and fear in their eyes than kindness and openness.

What anger me the most are their double standards. They'll yell for blood on Monday yet go to church Sunday and read from a book that preaches only love and forgiveness….and afterwards they'll talk about the necessity of the death penalty and how those who are different from themselves shouldn't be allowed to be anywhere near them.

Such hate…..such blindness. What can I do? They won't listen and I'm getting tired of shouting to deaf ears. What difference can I do? So few are willing to open up….so few…

Why? I wish I knew that. Why do they practise hate when they could practise love? Why?

~Hank

**Part 10: Who Cares Anyway Remy movie/comic based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like when everything is slowly fading out and you're losing focus?_

They don't understand. No one understands me. I stand here in the middle of a crowded room, everyone are smiling, a beer in my hand, a beautiful woman beside me…and I feel so lost. The music is so loud I can barely think.

I'm the only one the others look up to. I get all the girls, I'm the centre of attention…And I'm slipping away. I don't know what or even who I am anymore. All these parties and nameless beauties are fading. I drink to forget and to remember. I don't know where I'm going anymore.

Nothing seems real; no emotions are real. I love no one and no one loves me. It seems as if I'm walking on an empty road with no chance of deviating from it.

I know I'm getting caught in my own role and my own image. I thought it was this I wanted; it seemed so simple. The truth is I don't want their respect because they fear my organisation, my people or me. I want their respect because they admire my work and me.

I feel no remorse over stealing; it's what I had to do from an early age to survive. The streets either harden you or kill you. I wanted ahead, I wanted to become someone and I did…the leader of the Thieves Guild. I'm now the leader of one of the biggest crime organisations in America. I thought that would make me happy but it doesn't.

Everything is false; from their loyalty to their smiles. They're all just waiting to stick a knife into my back and take what I have from me. They don't dare to do it right now but if I should loosen my hold…. they will.

I didn't think I would care about the way I got so far; I didn't think I would think about all the people I've hurt on my way. At daytime their voices are quiet; drowned out by the smell of money and fear but at night time when everything is still, the only sound the breathing of the guard outside my room, my fingers find the gun on my night stand…and I hear them. They laugh at me, mock me, plea with me…they're driving me insane.

Worst of all is my father. I see him every night. He threatens me, frightens me and accuses me of his death. When he was alive our relationship was built on fear; my fear for him and my total dependence on him. But I changed all that. I made him feel what I had felt; how it was to be the little one…and then I killed him.

Life never turns out the way you think it will but I never had any dreams or thoughts about my future so where does that leave me? I just wanted to live, to be someone…now I doubt I'll reach 30.

At night, in the darkness I pray to a God whose name I thought I had forgotten….even I don't know what I ask for but it's something….just something I feel is missing.

~Remy

**Part 11: No Worth No Life Warren/Angel movie/comic based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like to have everything and it's still not enough ….._

I'm bored. Bored of games, bored of life in general. I've been everywhere, seen everything. There is nothing new to do or try.

I've been the good boy, I've been the bad boy. I've built hospitals; I've made weapon deals with tyrants. I've built shelters to the homeless; I've tried drugs; doing and selling. I've given millions to charity; I've paid millions to anticipate in a game on human life; kill or be killed. I've travelled the world; I've done it all.

Everything bores me. I've been everywhere yet why aren't I satisfied? What do I want? I own half the bloody world for crying out loud. And maybe that's the problem. The reality of it all. Everything seems unreal. I can buy everything; immunity for the law, life, death and love. Yet, it's never real. None of it seems real to me. It's like a giant videogame where I rule supreme. No one has any feelings or any thoughts of their own.

I've never had any real friends or any real lovers. I can never tell who loves me for me or who loves me for my money. As time has passed I've come to understand that everything is about money; no one does anything for free. I can trust no one and no one here likes me for me; they like my money. I'm surrounded by people all day and night should I wish it so yet I'm always alone. No one understands me and no one wants to.

I've so often heard that I have everything and that people wish they were me. Well, be my guest. It's Hell in my mind even if I live in a golden cage. It's like I'm trapped in the world's greatest prison and I can't break free.

Yet sometimes late at night I dream. I dream of a mother's sweet embrace, of a father who actually remembers my name, I dream of a woman who'll truly love me and who'll stay with me forever….and I dream I'm alone with her, flying high above the ground…..just like an Angel. Just like an Angel.

But that's just that; dreams. My parents were always too busy to see me, I was raised by nannies. Touch and showing emotions was forbidden and now I don't know if I would even be able to feel anything should I meet this dream woman of mine. Can I even feel at all? I don't know for so far the only feelings I've had have been negative; nothing has touched me or made me feel. Maybe that was why I did so many extreme things from bad business deals to trying daring stunts that could have cost me my life…..maybe I was hoping I could feel. Something, anything. But I didn't.

At night, in dreams, I have hope. I'm so sure she is out there somewhere, waiting for me. But as I reach for her she's always gone. At day I know better; there is no such woman and even if there was I'll never find her. No one could ever know my darkness and the conflict in my soul and understand. No one.

~Warren

**Part 12: Red As Blood And Roses Betsy movie/comic based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like to long for something yet you can't even explain what it is….._

Don't feel. Don't think, just act; just do. How many times haven't I thought that? How often haven't I heard that? Don't think; don't feel….just don't….

Some people are born in the sun; others have to fight to get out of the darkness. I'm not complaining, I learned from an early age that complaints only lead to sorrow. Don't think…don't wonder…don't long.

I've worked so hard to do that and I've almost succeeded. When most people talk about having a talent it's something like cooking or riding or swimming. Me; I'm good at killing people. That's what I do. People hire me for a job and I do it. It sounds simple and it should be simple…..yet why isn't it? Why do their faces, their pleas and their blood hunt me so much?

I have no choice, I don't. I have to live, I have to get by. No matter how often I say that to myself it never works. I tell myself that I set the rules; I only kill men. It was supposed to make it better but it doesn't. It's still somebody's father, brother, friend….

I guess it's a line to cross like anything else. At first the very thought of taking a life was repulsing to me and the first kill was the hardest; I threw up for hours afterwards. But then it got easier. My tears stopped, my hands didn't shake….my heart didn't bleed. Every time the light left their eyes a piece of me died with them. Each time I stand over another man, on his knees pleading for his life I see my soul in his eyes and I know I'm killing it with him. Soon, there'll be nothing left to save. Soon, I won't be able to care or to love even if I wanted to.

I'm killing myself ever so softly; I know this. I'm killing my soul, my coincidence and my humanity yet I can't stop. I pray for someone to give me a reason to stop but the truth is I like being the best at something, I like the respect. This is all I know, this is all I know how to do. What would I be without it? A nobody? Then rather a dead somebody than a living nobody.

Morals and principles are for the rich, born with a silver spoon in their mouths….yet why do I sometimes, not often but still at times, see it in the faces of people that life should have broken? How come some people can stand by their principles even in the face of death and others can't? In the light of day I tell myself I'm the strong one; I survived and I've become someone. But in the stillness of the night I hear a whispering voice, fading more and more, saying that I'm wrong. That I'm the weak one for going back on my principles. At daytime I have to believe what I do is necessary and even right but at night…..at night I know better.

I long, somewhere deep inside me, a part of myself still live, a light still shines and struggles for breath. My own darkness is strangling it but it's still there. In that light, hidden deep in my soul, I long for someone to hold me, someone to tell me to stop, someone to love me and ask for my love in return. Someone…someone but who? An angel. Only an angel could ever redeem me, could ever look past the façade and find the woman I once was.

Who am I kidding? An Angel? Who should that be? I was born to darkness, this is my destiny. Nothing can change that.

Yet the light still fights. It's fainter now, it's slowly dying yet it still struggles. It hopes to hold out for a hero; for an Angel.

The light is dimming now, the darkness grows stronger and the night colder. I no longer look myself in the eyes when I pass the mirror.

The light shines so faintly. Angel…..help me

The light fades.

~Betsy

**Part 13: Lost Somewhere Xavier movie/comic based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like to feel like you were born to do something more, be more than you are?_

Even here, even now, I still feel this faint flicker of restlessness. This feeling that there is something more, something else I should be doing. It's rather stupid because what else, what more could I possibly want or ask for? Yet, though the voice is much quieter now than it was in my youth it's still there and in the stillness of the night it'll whisper to me.

I was so idealistic when I was younger. I wanted to save the entire world from itself. I thought I could make a difference, I thought I could change the world. Now I know I was daydreaming and all dreams must one day end. I still believe in helping others but I have long since admitted that most humans are full of fear, hate and prejustice and they can't and won't open their minds and hearts to any other way of thinking than their own. If your way of life isn't theirs you're abnormal, strange and a potential threat who they'll try and remove as soon as possible.

I was born to money and wealth but a strict stepfather showed me life on the other side as I felt humiliation and pain from his hands. When I cried myself to sleep at night I swore that no child should ever have to live through what I had. I became a psychologist and started working at a hospital for patients wounded in war. It was there I first met Erik. He was unlike anyone I had ever met; he was strong yet valuable, bitter yet hopeful, in pain yet helping others, revengeful yet had such a gentle touch. To this day he remains one of my life's greatest contradictions.

It was while working with Erik that I learned why girls and women had never attracted me. I had had girlfriends but something had always seemed wrong and missing. As my friendship with Erik grew to love I knew what it was. However I was too controlled to dare say anything and even more so because I was a mutant and I didn't know how he'll take that.

Disaster should be what brought us together. After I had discovered my own sexuality I had begun to speak out for gay rights as well as mutant rights. That didn't go over well with many people who still fought the equality of the races that the 60's had brought with it in its wave of love, freedom and a youth who believed firmly in peace and a better future. I had received many threats on my life and was well awake of the danger yet the attack was still a surprise. I was going towards my car when it happened. They were too many for me to capture all their minds and the attack was too violent; I lost control. They came at me with pipes and hit me again and again. I stumbled and fell, blood running from my broken lip and dripped to the ground. Someone kicked me; his face twisted in fury as they all yelled insults at me, everything from mutie to faggot. I felt several ribs break as I tried to hold onto one of my attackers mind but pain was clouding my ability. Someone hit my legs repeatedly with an iron pipe and I screamed in agony. It felt like my legs were on fire, pain so intense that I nearly passed out ran through me. I was only half conscious when suddenly something made my attackers fly backwards and land in unnatural positions on the ground; obviously dead. Blood kept running into my eyes as I looked up and saw that my saviour was no other than the man I loved; Erik. And he was flying. He was a mutant like me. I noticed the fury and concern in his eyes and I wanted him to know I was all right but I couldn't get a word out; the pain was too intense. As he landed beside me and gathered me in his arms I passed out. The next I knew I woke up in a hospital bed and Erik held my hand; he had never left me.

That day my dream died. I saw that the only true thing in this world were the bond of love I share with Erik; everything else is false. The next year was a painful battle as I realised I would never walk again. Erik stayed by my side no matter how often I hurt him, pushed him away, complained, cried or cursed; he understood and stayed. Later I learned of all the pain he himself has gone through and I know how he could understand my frustration, helplessness and useless anger.

As soon as I had made a full recovery Erik flew us away from the hospital and America and to this day we have never returned; it holds too many bad memories. Due to Erik's memories of a Europe in war under Hitler we stayed in Asia and brought a nice house where we now live together. It's peaceful and out of the way; like our own little piece of Paradise.

All in all life has turned out good for me; I'm loved and I give love in return. What more can I possibly ask for?

At times I still wonder if I could have done more, should have done more but then I look down at my useless legs and I know; nothing can save the humans from their own blindness; not themselves and not me.

No, things turned out the way they should and the only way they could.

Didn't they?

~Xavier

**Part 14: What Was And What Is Magneto movie/comic based**

_Have you ever wondered what it is like to be caught between a past you can't let go and a future you can't escape?_

They never change. Fear makes them hate and hate makes them kill. I've seen people at their worst and sad to say their worst is the face they show most often.

I can't remember a time where fear and hate didn't rule the world and where me and mine weren't in danger. People always fear what they don't know or don't understand....unfortunately they rarely do anything to understand and open their minds. It must be boring to live in such a closed world and only see things in black and white. I wonder how they can justify the hate in their lives when there is no logical explanation for it? Most of them have never even met whoever or whatever it is they hate with such intensity.

I vaguely remember my home in Poland and my parents. Hate and prejudice tore our lives apart. They were taken from me and at that time I didn't have enough control or power to save them. I'll never let that happen again, I'll never feel that helpless again.

In the camp during the war the Nazi doctors discovered my powers over magnetism and ran countless and agonizing tests on me in hope of finding a way to use my powers to their advantage. The days and nights seemed endless and floated into one. To survive I retreated so far into my own mind that I couldn't feel anything. I don't remember much from those years; my mind was a blank and I had closed myself off to the world outside. At night I sometimes awake from terrible nightmares of torture and rape I can't even begin to describe but the human mind is an amazing thing; to protect my own sanity I'm never able to remember anything from the dreams; only an overwhelming feeling of fear and helplessness. Its nights like those where I more than anything need my lover and he's there for me. He takes me in his arms and calms me and in the dark of the night it's all right for me to be weak for just a few hours but come daytime we never talk about it because I cannot do so. In the light I need to be strong, I have to.

After far too long the war finally ended and the camp was freed but it wasn't until two years later in a hospital in France where I slowly returned to reality. Nuns had been looking after me and I think it was their gentle touch and sweet voices that finally brought me back. I doubt I would have come back if a man has been looking after me; at that time I was used to a man's touch that could bring only pain and suffering while the only memory of a woman I had was of my mother's sweet love. It took five more years before the Sisters thought me ready to slowly return to the real world. I had left the world as a young boy filled with joy and love and returned to it a grown man who was scarred on body and soul for life. To this day I still remember the Sisters and all they did for me and every year I make a donation to their Church and their order. As long as the Sisters who looked after me were alive I visited them a few days every year but now they are long dead and I don't visit Europe at all. I wouldn't mind visiting England, France or any of the other Allied countries but I could never return to Germany, Poland or any of the Nazi controlled countries. The memories are too fresh in my mind even now. Though they are much more infrequent now I sometimes still have vivid flashbacks of the war. I can walk down a busy street and suddenly I'm sure I see Nazi soldiers coming at me, their guns raised and threatening. If not Charles at these occasions helps me suppress those memories I could destroy half a city because of a memory. I once did just that to a smaller town in Africa before I met him and that was why I for so long didn't use my powers.

After I left the Sisters I studied in England and became a Doctor. I began working at a hospital for mentally and physically wounded in war. It was there I first met Charles. My heart had become closed and hard from the scars of war and I hadn't loved anyone since my parent's death. Charles broke through my stonewalls and defences. His light and compassion warmed my darkness and melted the ice around my heart. We became friends and I soon realised I wanted to be more than friends. It's strange but I never once saw Charles like I saw other men; due to the torture of my mind and body the male Nazi guards had put me through I had and still have a great hate and mistrust to all men....save Charles. I never saw him like a man like that; he was simply Charles. I was unsure of what I could do about my feelings because I wasn't sure if he repaid them. I knew he wouldn't mind me being a mutant; he was too kind and compassionate to let that stop him and he was engaged in first mutant rights movements and later also gay movements so I was left to wonder if he was what I hoped he was or simply the most tolerant and open person I had ever met.

Things collided the night he was attacked. I felt his pain and aguish in my mind, like a scream. For the first time since I had accidentally ruined half a city I dared to use my powers and I flew to his aid. My rage was red hot when I saw what they were doing to him; they were hurting my Charles, the man I love! Filled with fear and anger beyond anything I had ever felt I attacked them and killed them without a second thought. They acted like brutal animals and as such I treated them. Charles was badly hurt and I brought him to a hospital and stayed with him. We admitted our love and that we were both mutants but at that time I wondered if our love would be enough to get us through what lay ahead. A difficult year followed when Charles fought to come to teams with being an invalid. He's a proud man and had trouble accepting help; especially from me. He feared I stayed out of compassion instead of love. I realised that I needed to show him I needed him as he needed me and so through words and actions I let him know without a doubt that he was loved and needed and finally he let me know the same.

After what Charles had been through neither he or I had any desire to remain in America where it had happened. I quickly found that America has the strongest double moral I've ever seen and it's the most divided country I've visited for a long time. For such a young country it has had an unnatural great among of very bloody wars and massacres; maybe because if such a divided country shall ever survive it constantly needs an enemy; any enemy and I had no desire to stay and find Charles and me being labelled as such. So after Charles had fully recovered we moved to the East and due to the founds left by both our parents we never lack anything and have a great home where we live together.

At times I wonder if I could have done more to help my people, to prevent the dark future we're heading towards. Another future were hate and prejudice rules the world but then I look at Charles and I see that we were actually lucky; he 'only' lost the use of his legs. Had we continued, had he continued, we would both end up dead and I don't want him to die and I don't want to die now where I have finally found love and a sense of peace.

No, this is the way things were meant to be. We can't save the world from itself. Only they can change its fate and they don't want to. I'll stay with Charles in our own little Paradise of love and close out the world. One day the hate will find us and destroy us but when that day comes I pray we're both long dead and buried because I won't go back to being a prisoner and having another number tattooed into my arm. I would rather die than live like that. Their hate will not hold me prisoner ever again and I'll make sure they won't get Charles either. We'll be together in life…or death if needs be. We've done nothing wrong yet we are the ones who'll get punished by their blindness.

I wonder if they'll ever open their mind and see? Or do they really have to destroy the entire world one more time before they see that we're not the enemy they fear; they are. The enemy they fight….are themselves and their own fear and hate.

~Erik


End file.
